


prove it to me

by gamerfic



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Hopeful Ending, Moving On, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Canon, Self-Improvement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamerfic/pseuds/gamerfic
Summary: Years after their final confrontation on Earth, Carol and Yon-Rogg meet again on an isolated planet. It's obvious Carol has changed since then. Has Yon-Rogg?
Relationships: Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg
Comments: 14
Kudos: 61
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	prove it to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [XenomorphLiebe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XenomorphLiebe/gifts).



Yon-Rogg has always suspected that the Kree taboo against telling anyone other than your most intimate friends about how the Supreme Intelligence appears to you has less to do with respecting the sanctity of the experience than it does with preventing you from embarrassing yourself. Nobody wants the whole universe to know that the person you most respect is your long-ago nursery school teacher, or an unattainable celebrity, or an ex-partner you can't seem to get over - or yourself. These days, Yon-Rogg isn't grateful for many things, but he's certainly grateful for the pressure of tradition that made him hold his tongue.

When he returned to Hala, bearing Vers's message and the news of his own failure, he'd expected the Supreme Intelligence to kill him just as it had threatened. He's never understood why it didn't. "Perhaps I still have plans for you, disappointment though you may be," it told him mockingly as he knelt before it, groveling and apologizing over and over. He doesn't understand that decision either, and he expects he never will. After all, it would hardly be a Supreme Intelligence if a simple soldier like him could easily grasp its plans.

However, he _does_ understand why he got sent to 113-Epsilon - an outpost on the outermost fringes of the Kree Empire, so far-flung and unimportant it doesn't even rate a real name yet. The frigid, rocky planetoid wobbles in an eccentric orbit around a distant star. It has no native settlements nor any indigenous life forms beyond a few especially hardy strains of bacteria. If it has any important resources at all, they cannot be seen beneath the thick snow and ice blanketing every square meter of the rugged terrain. But the Supreme Intelligence has decreed this isolated place to be of strategic importance, and so it must be observed at all times.

The Kree military presence on 113-Epsilon, such as it is, consists of two personnel stationed in a prefab forward operating base on top of a mountain. Their job is to maintain the deep space communications relay attached to the roof of the building (the only truly valuable asset on the entire planet, troops included), monitor and report on anything unusual that happens in the outer reaches of the system (nothing ever does), and try not to go mad with boredom (a constant work in progress). A tour of duty lasts six months, after which a new pair of unfortunate souls will rotate in to take their place.

This is Yon-Rogg's first duty rotation on 113-Epsilon. For his compatriot, a stout middle-aged woman named Des-Emma, it's the eleventh. The two of them haven't shared their reasons for being saddled with such a miserable assignment, but hers are pretty clear to him all the same. In the days before his demotion, he did everything in his power to not-so-gently remove soldiers like her from his unit: the lazy, unreliable, querulous sort, who try to grab whatever advantages they can while giving back as little as possible. It troubles him to think the Supreme Intelligence views him as being on the same level.

Right now, Des-Emma is studiously ignoring the red light insistently blinking on the console in front of her. "I believe we are detecting another power surge in sector 12B," he says to her, hoping his frustration doesn't come through in his voice.

Des-Emma barely looks up from the interminable Kree serial drama she spends most of her waking hours watching. "Sure does."

"Do you plan to investigate it?" he asks through gritted teeth.

"You and I both know it's just another bad sensor, same as the last three. Damn lowest-bid contractors can't build anything that stands up to this kind of cold."

"You're probably right, but protocol clearly dictates - "

"Hey, I've got a protocol too! What a coincidence. Wanna hear mine? It goes like this: You spot it, you got it." She kicks her legs up onto the console and grins as she mimics his accent and tone. "So, do you plan to investigate it?"

Yon-Rogg bites back a curse and stalks away. Like it or not, Des-Emma's seniority technically makes her his superior, and he knows he has to defer to her. Her stifled laughter echoes in his ears as he makes his way toward the vehicle bays. _Maybe she has it right,_ he thinks despondently. _Who am I trying to impress out here, anyway?_ Even in the vanishingly unlikely event that he can somehow earn his way back into the Supreme Intelligence's good graces, it's not exactly keeping careful track of what he does on 113-Epsilon. He and Des-Emma both know no one is watching them, so why not make an unpleasant duty as enjoyable as you can?

Try as he might, he can't make himself fall for it. _The Supreme Intelligence may never know what I do here,_ he concludes as he pulls on his cold-weather gear and the respirator 113-Epsilon's thin atmosphere necessitates, _but_ I _do. I may not have much left, but I'll always have my honor. It matters to me that I do what I should, even if it doesn't matter to anyone else._

Sector 12B lies on the opposite side of a deep, impassable ravine from the base, so Yon-Rogg boards one of the scouting vessels reserved for patrols and pilots it out into the night sky. This travel-worn, outdated craft is nothing like the powerful, cutting-edge fighters he once flew to distant systems in better days, but he can still find some small joy in the muted roar of the single engine and the sensation of the planet falling away beneath him as gravity loosens its grip. He turns his gaze up at the stars above and wishes he could continue on up toward them, until he ended up anywhere other than here. But he still has a job to do and the ship isn't spaceworthy anyway, so he returns his attention to the controls and lays in the proper course.

Only the ship's navigational charts tell him when he's arrived at his destination. It's indistinguishable from any other patch of snow and rock on 113-Epsilon, especially in the dark. He finds a reasonably flat spot on which to set the craft down, within walking distance of the sensor giving off the anomalous readings, and steps out into the cold. But before he can consult the screen on his wrist for further directions, a brilliant orange flash illuminates the horizon above the nearest ridge. Then the light vanishes as abruptly as it appeared.

Yon-Rogg drops into a crouch, his heart hammering. _What was that?_ He briefly considers radioing back to the base and calling for backup, but even if Des-Emma takes his request seriously he isn't sure he trusts her to watch his back anyway. It will be faster, and likely safer, for him to get to the bottom of this alone. Slowly he creeps toward the top of the ridge, keeping low to the ground, making for a large boulder at the crest that will offer him some concealment. When he reaches it, he peers around its side and down the slope. What he sees there wrenches an audible gasp from his throat.

A mid-sized spaceship, even older than his own craft and in far worse repair, sits nestled in the canyon below. It appears to be powered down, perhaps even inoperable. However, any damage to the hull appears superficial, and the terrain surrounding it is fully intact. This was a deliberate landing, not a crash. It seems impossible that he could have missed its arrival, until he remembers that 113-Epsilon is not nearly important enough to rate a planetary-scale defense system or proximity alert sensors. Without having seen the ship's approach with his own eyes, he would have no way of knowing it was here.

A flicker of movement near the aft section catches his attention. He squints at it, wishing he had binoculars. A figure, similar in shape and size to a Kree, is tinkering with something near the cone of the ship's engine. They hold out their hand, and a stream of bright energy pours from their fingertips and into an open electrical panel. Even without the blue-white glow newly illuminating the figure's blonde hair and symmetrical features, he knows who it is. He would recognize those powers anywhere. _Vers._ How many years has it been since he last saw her? Three? Maybe five? All he knows is that her beauty hasn't diminished - nor has the knot that forms in his stomach at the sight of her.

Once, long ago, they were more than mentor and protege, more than comrades, more than friends. They never really put words to exactly what they were to each other, or made any promises beyond what any two fellow soldiers might make on the battlefield. Yon-Rogg only knew that he would have promised her anything, would have given her whatever she asked of him. Now, after so long apart, he's shocked to discover he would still do the same. If anything, time and distance have only served to deepen his feelings.

Whatever Vers is trying to do apparently isn't yielding the desired results. She stops the flow of energy and leans forward to study the ship again. Some part of him wants to run down into the canyon and help her, even as all his training screams out how ridiculous that would be. But before he can make that mistake, he feels the firm pressure of a gun barrel in his back and freezes. "Hands where I can see them," a voice says from behind him. "Turn around. Slowly."

Yon-Rogg does what he's told, lifting his arms above his head. His captor is a Skrull woman who must be quite at ease with her surroundings, since she hasn't bothered with a shapeshifted disguise. "I'm not armed," he says, which is the truth. He was complacent enough not to bother taking any of the underpowered, outdated firearms from the weapons locker back at the base when he left - not that having one now would help him much anyway.

"You'll excuse me if I don't take your word for it," the Skrull snorts. She prods him with her gun again. "You're coming with me. Move it." Without hesitation, he starts off down the hill in the direction of the ship - toward Vers, where he always knew he'd end up again someday.

He slips a few times while descending the steep embankment, but reaches the bottom in one piece, albeit more than a little disheveled. It's not the way he wants to present himself to her again - red-faced and panting from exertion, covered in snow, with his sweaty hair plastered to his scalp - but in light of his current circumstances, he supposes he should be happy the Skrull didn't just shoot him on sight. "Think you'll want to see this," she calls out to Vers, shouting to be heard over the whistling winds.

Vers pulls her gaze away from the innards of the ship and straightens up to face him. It takes a moment for her to recognize him, but as soon as she does, her eyes fill with unconcealed shock. "You know this guy?" the Skrull asks her, sounding confused. "I caught him watching us at the top of the canyon."

"Yeah," says Vers. Then she asks him flatly, "How long have you had us under surveillance?"

"Not long."

"Who else knows we're out here?"

"No one," he answers truthfully, knowing he has likely signed his own death warrant by doing so. Standard Kree procedure is to shoot spies on sight, preferably before they can convey any messages to their superiors.

"Good." They both know she could kill him where he stood without a second thought, but she doesn't. Instead, she plucks the military-issue communicator from his collar and casually obliterates it with a pulse of energy from her fingertips. He tries not to let his relief show. Besides, he knows he's not in the clear yet. To the Skrull, Vers says, "Bring him on board. I have more questions to ask him."

The Skrull hustles Yon-Rogg through the rear cargo bay doors. She pats him down roughly and, finding no weapons just as she'd said, quietly withdraws after a nod from Vers. The interior of the ship is hardly warmer than the outside was, and his breath hangs in the air with each exhalation. Its environmental systems must be malfunctioning. But being shielded from the wind still helps, if only because it lets them hear each other without needing to yell. Unfortunately, he has a feeling he's not going to like what he hears.

Vers's stance is just as confident and bold as it was the last time he saw her, if not more so, but her eyes are heavy and tired. Whatever she's doing is taking a toll on her. "Why are you out here, Yon-Rogg?" she asks in a weary voice.

Shame creeps into his tone. "This is my duty station now."

She regards him silently for long moments as she considers what he's said. "Wow," she finally says. "The Supreme Intelligence must have _really_ not liked my message."

"I'm lucky to be alive," he says flatly. "It all but promised it would kill me if I didn't bring you and the core back to it in once piece. You didn't know that, did you, Vers?"

Her jaw clenches and she takes a step closer to him. He cringes uncontrollably away from her, hating how weak it makes him feel. "My name," she says firmly, "is _Carol._ "

"Carol. Of course. I'm sorry. I didn't know." He feels just like he did when the Intelligence gave him its final directive, like he's begging for his small miserable life before something far too vast and powerful for him to comprehend. "I tried to do what it asked, and I failed. You defeated me. I don't know why it left me alive. We both know I don't stand a chance against you."

"It left you alive for a time like this. It's hoping I'll make a mistake because of my feelings for you. But that's not going to happen."

 _This is how I die, then,_ Yon-Rogg thinks. He takes a deep breath and does the only thing he can think of to do. "But you _are_ about to make a mistake if you don't let me help you."

That gets her attention. "What do you mean?"

He gestures in the direction of the ship's engines. "What you're doing to try to get in the air again won't work. The problem isn't the reactor. Your power converter is failing. You won't get anywhere until you replace it."

"How do you know that?"

"Once you've heard what a bad one sounds like, you'll never forget it." Carol's eyes widen slightly as she picks up on the distinctive rumbling whine permeating the cargo bay. "I started out as a mechanic before the Supreme Intelligence picked me out for special projects. Remember?"

"I had forgotten," she admits. "I suppose we'll have to repair it."

"If you have a week to get it done, sure. It's awful work. Much easier to replace the whole thing. You _do_ have some spare parts on hand, don't you?"

"The pilot of this ship didn't exactly get to perform an inventory of the supplies before he took off."

"Ah. Stolen, then." Her lack of acknowledgement gives him his answer. "You're in luck, though. It's a common enough part. We have dozens of them back at the base that won't be missed."

Carol raises an eyebrow. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"Let me fly back and get you one. Once I have it on hand, it's easy to install. Then you can fly away and we don't have to deal with each other anymore."

She stares at him for a long time, expressionless, inscrutable. "All right," she finally says. "Hurry back. And if you tell anyone what you saw..."

"I know," says Yon-Rogg, hearing the echo of the Intelligence in her voice.

The cold wind outside when she opens the cargo bay doors slaps him in the face, as harsh and unforgiving as the Intelligence's disapproval. She looks on impassively as he struggles up the side of the canyon and trudges back to his own ship. He won't ask her for help, no matter how deep the snow gets. After takeoff, he glances down to see her still watching him from below. He wonders if he'd even feel it if she destroyed him right here and now - but she doesn't, so he continues on.

Just as he promised, he flies directly back to the base, lands in the hangar, and starts rummaging through the disorganized piles of parts in the nearby workbench. A squall of static announces Des-Emma's voice breaking in through the overhead speakers as he searches. "Status report," she says, sounding bored.

It would be so easy to tell Des-Emma the truth. It would certainly help him to do so. The Skrull on that ship must be very important for Carol to involve herself personally in rescuing them - undoubtedly just the sorts of dissidents the Supreme Intelligence is most interested in neutralizing. It probably wouldn't even put her at risk to give up the information, since he wouldn't bet on any amount of Kree firepower standing up against her. But selling her out might put him back in the Intelligence's good graces, and it couldn't make her despise him any more than she already did. Or he could just not come back, and hope that time and the elements would do what he couldn't. It's what Carol expects him to do.

But he doesn't. "It's like you thought," he calls out, knowing the microphones in the security system will pick him up even though Carol wrecked his communicator. "Bad sensor. I just had to come back for a few parts."

Des-Emma cackles. "Thought you would've had a protocol for not forgetting stuff like that." He chooses not to dignify her with a response.

At the bottom of a pile of expended fuel cells, Yon-Rogg finally finds the power converter he needs. He flies back to sector 12B, half expecting Carol's ship to have vanished like a mirage - but it's still just where he left it, with Carol standing beside it unconcerned by the worsening weather. This time, he lands in the canyon next to it, no longer bothering to conceal himself.

He hands the converter over to her without a word, knowing better than to ask her to trust him with the repairs too. "Follow me," she says, and leads him back aboard her ship. He's been gone for less than an hour, and Carol and her allies have clearly spent that time preparing. A Skrull mechanic has an access panel open in the deck and a removed and obviously damaged power converter sitting in front of the opening. She passes the new part over to him, and they all wait as he wrenches it into place.

The difference is obvious and immediate. The ship's engines roar abruptly to life outside, and heated air pours out of the vents to warm his face and hands. She stares at him in disbelief as the mechanic scurries away. "Why did you do this?" she asks.

"Because I value my life."

"The man I knew would rather die than betray the Kree."

"The man you knew never saw what I've seen."

"You stopped believing in the Kree?"

"I will _never_ stop believing in the Kree. A pity the Supreme Intelligence can't say the same." Seeing the confusion on her face, he continues. "I've been out here for a long time now, Vers - _Carol._ It's given me a chance to think about things in a new way. The Kree were given a gift when you gained your powers. But the Intelligence didn't recognize it at the time. It still doesn't. All it could see was how you had thwarted its master plan. You didn't fit its patterns, so it had to _make_ you fit them. Never mind what it cost you - or what it cost any of us. I wonder...if the Supreme Intelligence had tried to make the most of the situation after I killed Mar-Vell, if it had told you the truth about what happened and let you grow into your abilities instead of suppressing them, how different would you be? How much better would we all be? I regret that we'll never know."

Carol takes a step toward him, then another. Although he's not sure of her intentions and still half expects her to attack him, he forces himself to stand his ground. Instead, she leans in and kisses him swiftly on one corner of his mouth. "Get off my ship," she tells him sweetly, and he's too dazed to do anything but comply.

Yon-Rogg shivers as he leans against his ship and watches the Skrull take off with Carol soaring along beside them, white-hot and bright as a comet and every bit as untouchable. He refuses to tear his gaze away until she and the ship are nothing more than bright blue dots in the heavens above, indistinguishable from any of the stars. He doesn't know what the future holds for either of them, or even if he'll ever see her again. Nor does he expect she'll ever understand how much he still cares for her, or why. He only knows that the next time he stands in the Supreme Intelligence's chamber, it's going to be a lot easier to look himself in the eye.


End file.
